Sent Down to the Grasslands in the 1960s, I Became the White Tara

With the Eternal Blue Sky above, a wild rumor has been spreading across the Xilingol Grassland.

They say a pampered young lady from a “black category” family, thrown into a sheep pen to die, can deliver babies in a blizzard with nothing but an embroidery needle and a Mongolian knife, snatching lives from the King of Hell himself.

They say she can get an old eej who has been paralyzed for three years back on her feet and milking the sheep, and help a man whom the banner hospital had condemned to amputation ride at full gallop six months later.

They say that during the oboo worship ceremony, when the deputy director of the Revolutionary Committee tried to drive her away, the herders of the entire commune surrounded her, and the old Party secretary personally presented her with a blue khadag, an honor reserved for heroes.

They say that when plague struck and inept officials covered it up, she went against the tide and sealed off the village, single-handedly snuffing out the outbreak before it could spread. When the experts arrived, they cried, “Boss, need a sidekick?”

From then on, the grasslands had a “White Tara,” a “Guardian Deity.”

Behind her stood her taciturn husband, a cavalry company commander who could take on ten men at once; countless herders ready to stand by her to the death; and the grassland medical empire she had built with her own hands.

Meanwhile, the scumbag who had reported her, the quack doctor who had targeted her, and the ultra-leftist leaders were in a labor reform farm, singing songs of prison life and reflecting on their choices.